


Hurts Like A Bitch

by Mekina



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, Hurt!Sam, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Season/Series 03, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-03
Updated: 2012-08-03
Packaged: 2017-11-11 09:12:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/476935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mekina/pseuds/Mekina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is in the backseat, and Dean's fucking terrified because Sam isn't moving and he hasn't said anything for the entire drive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hurts Like A Bitch

Dean's fueled by panic and worry as he pulls up to the motel. Sam is in the backseat, and Dean's fucking terrified because Sam isn't moving and he hasn't said anything for the entire drive.

He's trying to stay calm because Dad always said panicking was a great way to get yourself and other people killed but he can't help it because the sight of Sam so still and pale in the backseat is twisting him into knots inside.

It's too much like _then,_ those awful hours after Cold Oak, when everything ended and Dean felt as cold and dead as Sam was on that filthy mattress. And any second he was waiting for Sammy to sit up and be his bratty little brother, whining about hygiene and what kind of awful diseases they might catch in that place, but he just kept lying there.

Fuck. Dean sold his damn soul, brought Sam back, this isn't supposed to happen. He has a year left to live (only about eight months now actually) and it can't be for nothing. Sam's not going to die anyway. He won't let him.

Maybe he should be taking Sam to a hospital. Dean agonizes over it as he wrenches the Impala's door open, no time to be gentle with Baby as he leans over Sam. He's got an instinct to avoid the hospital at all costs, thanks to Dad teaching him they couldn't afford the questions and suspicions over the Winchesters' bruised, scarred bodies, but in this case...for Sam...

He's already decided if Sam still won't respond to him to take him to a hospital, maybe call 9-fucking-11, when Sam moans softly, head lolling to one side.

Thank fuck. He doesn't look or sound good but he's making noise, so he's alive.

"Sam," he breathes, relief so thick in his voice it would be embarrasing under other circumstances. "Okay, Sam, you with me?"

Sam moans again, lips parting and dry croak coming out as he tries to say Dean's name.

"I have to move you, Sam, get you inside. It's gonna hurt." Dean's honestly not sure if he can do it. Sam's carried him before but his brother has several inches and pounds on him, and he's in no condition to help out. Fuck!

His back will hate him for it later, but Dean thinks he can lift Sam long enough to get him inside and on a bed. Dropping him on the floor isn't an option. It'll just make the injuries inflicted by that damn spirit worse. It's almost laughable. All the things they've faced, and a bloodthirsty ghost with a rusty sword gets Sam. 

Then again a knife in the back by a human (with powers, but a human nonetheless) isn't how he originally expected Sam to go out.

He leaves Sam long enough to unlock and open the door to the room, flicking the light on so he won't be fumbling with keys or switches while his arms are full of Sam. 

Dean braces himself, slides Sam out of the backseat as carefully as he can. Despite that it still pulls at Sam's wounds, and he's whimpering as Dean staggers towards the motel room. It's a fireman's carry, and Dean is bent double with his brother's weight, sure that at any second he's going to drop him.

"Sorry, Sammy, so fucking sorry," he apologizes as he puts Sam down as gently as possible onto the nearest bed. He's pretty sure it's Sam's anyway, because that's his duffle sitting next to it, but he's not a hundred percent sure. He has more important things to worry about.

Sam's shirt is bloody and has to be cut off. Pity because it looked sexy on him, but it's unavoidable. There's no other way to get it off at the moment.

It's...well, not as bad as Dean had feared, but still bad. Sam's going to live ( _please fuck please let him live_ ) but there'll be more scars, and it'll take a lot of stitches. 

Three long gashes on Sam's belly and chest. He's lost a lot of blood, and it's that, rather than the pain, that made him lose conciousness earlier.

Sam is awake now though, if only barely, as Dean gets a cloth to wipe away some of the blood. He needs to be able to see what he's doing.

"D'n."

"I know it isn't fun but bear with me, Sam. I have to do this, and you know that."

"Is the spirit gone?" Sam's speech is slurred, like when he gets drunk, only now it's frightening Dean. 

"Salted and burned the motherfucker." Sam distracted it while Dean burned the bones. Yet another failure settles in, deep inside him to nestle along with all the other times he's failed and his family suffered for it. He's a Goddamn fuckup, wasn't quick enough. This is all his fault.

"Good." Sam starts to drift, but he hisses and tenses up when Dean starts applying the antiseptic. His teeth are clenched but an agonized groan gets out.

Dean just carries on, doesn't bother apologizing. He hates hurting Sam more but this is necessary, painful though it is. Ordinarily they just pour whiskey over the wounds after they're stitched up, but Dean's not taking any chances. They have to be clean first unless they want to have an infection on their hands.

At least the pain seems to have had the side affect of waking Sam up more. His eyes are open, fixed on the ceiling, and he's keeping his breathing slow and controlled as Dean pushes the needle in.

"I hope this isn't your idea of a good time, Dean." His voice is stronger than before, but tight with pain even as he jokes. "I'm not really into the whole blood thing."

"Aren't you? Thought it would be right up your alley." Dean ties off the first wound and starts on the second one. He could do this with his eyes closed. How many times did he sow up his father? And Sam, too, most of his scars, at least the more recent ones, were sewn up by Dean's hands.

Who's going to do this when Dean is gone? He bites his lip but the motion of the needle never falters. The question has been nagging him for awhile now. Ever since about three days after he made the deal. Once the initial rush of having his little brother back passed, he had to come to terms with the fact that, whether he liked it or not (and he certainly did not thank you very fucking much) he was going to die. 

Nothing anyone could do about it, despite Sam's   
determination.

And Sam was going to be left on his own.

He inflicted the same thing on Sam that he was so terrified of. Being alone. No Dad, no brother, Sammy will be by himself.

Just another way he's fucked up. He brought Sam back, but he's going to hurt him again after his year is up.

Dean is pretty sure that Sam is strong enough to go on by himself, though. He can go back to college, live that normal life he always wanted. Get into a real relationship, not this twisted mockery of one he has with Dean. Someone he can marry someday.

He'll have a dog, kids, barbacues on Fridays. Work in a fancy office. Be a civilian, without constantly having to worry something is going to rip him apart while he's not looking.

Dean wants that for him so much, almost more than he wants to live past his year and stay together. With Sam, for however long they have left to live. Which wouldn't be all that long, it's not like they're going to make it to retirement age.

"Stay with me, Sam," Dean says sharply, noticing Sam's eyes start to droop closed. "Sam!" He does his best imitation of Dad, because even if it made Sam sulky and grumpy, it still always got his attention when they were kids.

Sure enough, Sam's eyes snap back open, and this time he's looking right at Dean.

He knows Sam is in pain but he's almost done. Dean finishes the second gash and moves on to the third, and the nastiest. It's straight across Sam's stomach, and the one that bled the hardest. It will also take longer than the other two. Before he starts on it, he kisses Sam's hipbone gently, just once, as a way of apologizing, both for fucking up and being responsible for Sam getting hurt, and for hurting him more now. It has to be done, yeah, but that doesn't mean he likes doing it. 

"Just get on with it Dean," Sam mutters past his tightly grit teeth. "Sooner you finish the better."

"Not what you're always telling me in bed," Dean jokes, but it's half hearted. 

He pulls the needle through one last time, then ties it off and presses his forehead to an uninjured patch of Sam's belly. He's okay. Sammy's gonna be fine.

He was so scared for a minute there, though. So worried he was going to lose Sam, and it wasn't fair because he has eight months left with him.

After that they'll tear him forcibly away from his brother but before, it's not fair. This time should be guaranteed if it's the last he's ever going to have with Sam.

"I'm okay, Dean, you fixed me." Sam pushes a hand down weakly, runs his fingers through Dean's hair. "You're shaking."

He didn't know he was. Dean slides up the bed (bloody sheets, going to have to change them later), and settles against Sam's side, careful not to touch his injuries. He tucks his face into Sam's shoulder, closing his eyes. The worst part is eternity without Sam. It's not Hell that scares him so much (but fuck it scares him, so much, even if he doesn't let on just how much, can't, he has to keep Sam from being scared) but the knowledge that, once they drag him down there, that's it.

Nothing can save him. Nothing can stop them from taking him away. And he'll never see Sammy again.

"Hurts like a bitch though, I bet." Sam grunts an affirmative and Dean smiles, mouthing at his brother's soft skin.

Eight months, then it's over. He's not going to waste the time he has left.

He needs to have a word with Bobby, make sure the old man will keep his eye on Sam. Someone has to do it, and Dean won't be able to.

If Sam notices the wetness from Dean's eyes smearing on his skin, he doesn't say anything.


End file.
